


Part II: Those Who Remain

by FandomN00b



Series: Lost and Found: The Misadventures of Marian Hawke and Everyone She Meets [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Aveline saves the day, Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence, Other, disaster Templars, pro-Samson, pro-mages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-03 09:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: Hawke is gone. That's what Aveline has to tell people, anyway. And it's not technically a lie -- Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, is both physically absent from Kirkwall, and she was basically catatonic when Fenris, Varric, Isabela, and Merrill took her and fled the city after Anders blew the Chantry (and himself) up. Leaving Aveline to handle the mess, of course.But the Guard-Captain is not alone. She has Donnic, the City Guard, and Bethany, at least, if she can get to her before Meredith purges the Gallows. And the chaos has attracted the attention of a few other allies, too!





	1. Guard-Captain Aveline

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly POV Aveline, but each chapter sort of focuses on how one of the major supporting characters gets 'recruited' as they make their way through the end of the game without Hawke and most of the companions. Canon divergence, obviously, but still solidly grounded in endgame DA2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline finds Donnic. And makes a new friend.

\---

It all happened so fast. Aveline had said her quick goodbyes to her friends at the bottom of the Chantry steps and headed directly back into the fray without even taking a moment to _really_ catch her breath. She needed to find Donnic. And then Bethany. The two most important people left to her in Kirkwall.

Donnic was easy enough. He’d been assigned to Hightown tonight anyway, and she knew he’d undoubtedly be working to keep the peace somewhere nearby in the immediate aftermath of the explosion. She found him several blocks away with some of her other Guardsmen in the middle of an angry crowd, standing between them and a few Templars who had captured a handful of young fearful mages. The crowd had formed around the group, demanding justice -- but what that meant to each and every one of them in this moment was not exactly clear.

She heard someone shout “Let them go, you Templar pigs!” just as she heard another person demanding that the Templars “Burn them just as the Chantry is burning!”

The Templars themselves reeked of lyrium, a bit of overkill, Aveline felt, considering the small group of mages they’d rounded up were young and terrified and hardly fighting back against their captors. They had their hands bound up with some kind of magic-inhibiting shackles that looked to be causing them great discomfort, and they had laid Silence and Cleanse on them, so they were completely defenseless. All things considered, she was actually relieved they had at least restrained themselves from making some great show of executing them all right there in an over-exuberant attempt to hold _someone_ accountable for what had just happened.

“Guard-Captain! Please!” A woman broke free from the crowd and rushed toward her as she approached.

Donnic heard her title being shouted, and turned to see her, allowing his relief to show momentarily as he nodded at her in acknowledgment, a smile under his helmet reserved exclusively for his wife, not his boss. She nodded back, attempting as reassuring a look as she could muster, but the moment was short-lived.

“They have my daughter!” The woman was still trying desperately to get Aveline’s attention. She tugged on her arm, pulling her further toward the center of the crowd, pleading with her to intervene. “She was only fleeing for her life! She is not dangerous. Just scared. Please speak with the Templars, and convince them to spare her and these other frightened, innocent children!”

“We _all_ must try to remain calm!” Aveline implored those in the crowd around her, eyeing the woman to let her know she’d heard her case and would do whatever she could.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered, bowing to her, then looking up fretfully at her child in shackles. Aveline was reminded in that moment what a relief it was not to have any children of her own.

“They were attempting to flee! Probably to unleash another attack, or because they were somehow involved in this one!” one of the Templars snarled as he yanked on the lyrium shackles causing two of the younger mages to fall to their knees. Aveline recognized this one. A real piece of shit. And, not surprisingly, one of the few Templars who remained unquestioningly devoted to Knight-Commander Meredith on her crusade to purge the city of the “cancer” of magic.

“THEY BLEW UP THE CHANTRY!”

“FUCK THE CHANTRY!”

“DEATH TO ALL MAGES!”

“THEY ARE CHILDREN!”

Aveline finally stepped into the middle of the crowd, standing in front of the mages and Templars, surrounded by her own Guardsmen on either side, defying anyone to challenge her authority. The crowd grew silent. Almost every law-abiding citizen (or, at least, _mostly_ law-abiding, since practically nobody in the city was _completely_ innocent) in Kirkwall could think of a time when the City Guard, under Aveline’s command, had helped them out in a tough spot. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was positively formidable when she wanted to be.

“Go home and see that your own loved ones are safe!” she boomed. “The fate of these mages is not for you to decide.”

It was the most diplomatic thing she could think to say with a bunch of bristling Templars behind her and a volatile crowd egging them on. And, to her surprise, it actually worked to disperse the crowd at least. Most of them went their own separate ways grumbling, but with a new sense of urgency at the not-so-gentle reminder that their city was on the verge of all-out war.

“Guard-Captain! The First Enchanter sent us here to find the Champion!”

Aveline’s head snapped around to see the young mage who’d suddenly broken through the Templars’ Silence. He received a violent punch to the kidneys for his efforts. He doubled over, yelping in pain, and Aveline had to stop herself from drawing her sword. Diplomacy. Right.

“The Champion is gone,” she said, with what she hoped was the gravest sincerity. Aveline was terrible at lying. So she had chosen her words very carefully. Hawke _was_ gone. And even if she had been there, she probably wouldn’t have been able to help them. Things had gone too far in either direction, even for Hawke to talk her way around.

Donnic looked at her with guarded pity. She couldn’t bear to look back at him for fear of betraying Hawke’s secret with some wink or sparkle of hope in her eyes. She’d figure out what to tell him, how much to tell him, later. When things had settled down a bit.

“But the Knight-Commander...she is going to annul the Circle!”

Another mage had broken through the Templars’ anti-magic, and earned a kick to the back of her knees, as the Piece-of-Shit Templar growled, “That’s a lie! Do not listen to these mages! They are only trying to stir up even more chaos! THEY THRIVE ON IT!”

But the other Templars looked less sure, eyeing each other uneasily through the anonymity of their helmets.

Aveline knelt down next to the girl, and asked, “Where did you hear this?”

But she shook her head. None of the other mages responded, either. Aveline looked at each of them, and they just averted their gazes, ashamed that they were too weak to overcome the Templars, even in such dire circumstances.

“For the Maker’s sake, please just let one of them speak!” Aveline stood up. She was beginning to lose her characteristic cool-headed patience. She could feel the blood pumping into her cheeks, and her sword arm. She was tired of being diplomatic.

“We do not answer to _you_ , Guard-Captain.”

Mettin. That was his name. Aveline had been on patrol and had been forced to intervene when he and Hawke had come to blows a few years back over some heated remarks about Fereldans or mages or both at the Hanged Man. He was lucky that all he had was a scar where her bony knuckles met his sharp cheekbone to show for it. She must’ve restrained herself, for Aveline’s sake. Or misplaced her daggers. Both of them spent the night in jail, anyway. But at least Hawke had visitors.

“I’m not asking _you_ …” Her hand went to her sword just as he reached for his, which was already glowing and crackling with blue-white flames in its sheath.

But one of the other Templars, the highest-ranked of the group, stepped in between them, shouting “Enough! Let it go! The Guard-Captain’s just trying to do her job.”

She released one of the mages she’d been holding and removed the effects of Silence from him.

“What are you doing, Agatha?! The Knight-Commander will hear about your dereliction of duty…”

“Oh, go flush your duty into the sewers, Mettin! Can’t you see Meredith’s gone mad?!” She nudged the mage to speak, pushing him in front of Aveline directly. “Out with it, then. Who told you the Knight-Commander was going to invoke the Right of Annulment?”

“She did...just now...in Lowtown!” he gasped. “...Orsino and Meredith...” he paused, looking back at Agatha behind him for permission to proceed. She nodded. “They were arguing, like usual, and then the Chantry...that’s when the Knight-Commander said she would purge the Gallows!”

“LIES!” Mettin finally drew his sword, aiming for the mage’s throat, but Aveline was faster, and she was already waiting for him to try something stupid. She plunged her sword into his chest, and shoved him backwards with her shield before he could even come close to striking the mage. He crumpled to the ground, whimpering a bit for a few moments, before going silent. One of the other Templars knelt down beside him, looking up at Aveline in horror, as he felt for the life that was quickly leaving him.

Well, shit. She’d just killed a Templar. What was she doing?! She wasn’t Hawke, some brash rogue who could get away with this sort of thing and just brush it off as a casualty of being a careless asshole. She was a public figure. Her job was keeping the peace, not picking sides. She was both proud and dismayed that her fellow Guardsmen all faithfully drew their swords as well, standing ready at her side as they now faced the remaining three Templars. At least they outnumbered them.

But to her relief, the other Templars were not pulling out their own swords. Instead, they seemed to be relinquishing their holds on the mages they’d captured. The freed mages scattered in panic. The last place any of them wanted to be was anywhere close to the decimated Chantry. And if there was to be a showdown here and now between the City Guard and the Templars, they didn’t stand a chance.

“We don’t want this fight, Serah!” The Templar who was kneeling beside Mettin’s now-lifeless body stood up. Aveline recognized this one, too, now that she could see his face through his helmet, pleading with her. It was Ser Paxley. He had been a young recruit when she and Hawke had investigated the disappearances of several other recruits years ago. A good, skeptical kid, who questioned Meredith’s extreme measures, even then. She certainly didn’t want to have to kill _him_ , too.

“Then stand down.”

“C’mon, Jerran! Let’s go!” The two retreated back toward Lowtown, whether or not they intended to regroup with their fellow Templars or flee the city altogether was unclear, but Ser Agatha remained standing in front of her, seemingly unfazed by the sudden death of her comrade.

“Meredith will not be so easily persuaded to change her mind,” she said. It was more of a warning than a threat.

Aveline sensed no ill will from her. “We have to try. And if not, then we will fight.”

“Then I shall join you.”

Aveline put her sword away, a show of good faith she hoped she wouldn’t regret.  

“I take my Templar vows to _protect_ mages as seriously as I take the rest of them. If the Champion is truly gone, we should try to find Ser Cullen. I don't think he would support this Annulment, and if she is still capable of hearing reason, Meredith may listen to him.”

Aveline felt the woman’s intense, inquisitive glare for a moment when she mentioned Hawke. Apparently, her cover-up had not been convincing enough. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

Thankfully, one of the other Guardsmen spoke, a hint of optimism sneaking into his voice as he sheathed his own sword, as well. “I think we saw him heading toward the Chantry to help contain the damage.”

“Go with Ser Agatha, then, and get him. We will make our way to the Gallows.”

Agatha nodded. “Very well, Guard-Captain. Please, if you happen upon any other groups of fearful Circle mages lost or cornered in the chaos, do what you can to protect them. They are innocent in this.”

“Most of us are…” Aveline winced. Even those who weren’t entirely innocent didn’t deserve _this_.

“Andraste protect us all, then.”

“What about the Maker?” Aveline felt they needed more help than perhaps even Andraste could provide.

“Them, too!” Agatha shouted back to her, as she followed the Guardsman toward the Chantry.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ser Paxley! Hugh and Ruvena are probably around somewhere, too, regretting their major life decisions. But I like that Paxley basically GTFOs right into an even bigger disaster with the Red Templars, so he gets a special mention here. (Jerran, too...poor dudes).
> 
> Oh! And if Aveline weren't happily married to Donnic, and always refusing Hawke's advances, I'd totally ship her with Ser Agatha.


	2. Warden Carver Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline and her Guardsmen make their way toward the Gallows, but run into some familiar faces at the Docks.

\---

They had to get through Lowtown to the Docks, and it was Aveline’s preference that they do so without running into anymore unfriendly Templars, or mages, or angry crowds. To Aveline’s surprise, it seemed the chaos and panic actually served them well, in this regard, at least. With the exception of some looters, who were chased off quickly enough at the first sign of the City Guard (only to come back once the coast was clear, Aveline knew, but she couldn’t worry herself with protecting property when there were so many lives still at stake), and some easily-dispersed scuffles between people wishing to protect their magic-wielding loved ones and people wishing to turn them over to the Templars, they made it to the Docks without much incident. The Templars seemed to all be either fleeing the city or regrouping at the Gallows, and were not too interested in any standoffs with the City Guard along the way as they struggled with their own internal doubts and rifts. It seemed the majority of Kirkwall’s citizens were still recovering from the shock of the explosion, and bracing themselves for the real battles to come.

So, when they turned a corner to reach the dock where the boat used by the City Guard to cross the Harbor normally sat, ready to transport the next shift of Guardsmen to the Gallows, they were surprised to find it partially unmoored, damaged, and overrun by a squadron of Grey Wardens. According to policies put in place and enforced by Guard-Captain Aveline, there was always to be a reliable, sea-worthy boat ready to go for exclusive use by the City Guard both at the Docks, and at the Gallows, and they were never to be left unattended or in a poor or inaccessible state like this, ancient Warden mandates be damned!

“On behalf of the City of Kirkwall, as the Captain of the Guard, I ask that you stand down and allow us to board this boat! It is not to be used by civilians, or Templars, or...Wardens. And, as you might have noticed, the city is in a state of emergency!”

A familiar laugh greeted her. It was so friendly, almost childlike, and it irritated the shit out of her. It took Aveline a few moments to place it. Ostagar. But she had to look past painful memories. There was such little laughter to remember from that place. Further back, though, as they had prepared for what they’d been assured would be an easy victory against a few scattered Darkspawn...a face. A boy’s face. The laugh matched, but his appearance had completely changed, aged well beyond the years that had come and gone since then, with creases of worry and doubt and an exhausted resignation in his eyes that betrayed that laugh as nothing more than a remnant of who that boy had been.

“Ser Aveline Vallen! I’d heard you’d done well establishing yourself here in Kirkwall, but Guard-Captain, really?! I definitely always thought of you as more of a Templar than a civilian peacekeeper, but then again, here I am, a Warden-Commander, in spite of myself. Though everyone knows I probably only got this far on Brosca’s coat-tails…because they drag...on the ground...cuz she’s a dwarf. And sooo...short.” Well, he was certainly still awkwardly chatty, and just as bad at telling jokes as she remembered.

Some of the other Wardens chuckled, humoring him, or because they knew he was right about Brosca’s influence in his promotion, while others just shifted uneasily, or shook their heads, apparently growing impatient with this reunion and their Commander's casual attitude when there were clearly more urgent matters to discuss.

Aveline recognized a few of them. One of the head shakers, though his was a gentle sort of disapproval, was Nathaniel Howe, an unlikely friend of Anders from his time with the Wardens, and repentant son of the Butcher of Denerim, whom they’d rescued in the Deep Roads a few years back. And then there was Stroud, who was one of the Wardens who was displaying the greatest amount of disapproval, very nearly stamping his feet with impatience, like a toddler. Or a horse. He had been the one to save Carver by initiating him into the Wardens after he’d been infected with the Darkspawn taint during Hawke and Varric’s first cursed Deep Roads expedition. He had threatened to take Anders, too, as a prisoner, a deserter, but Hawke had seen to it, even then, that he remained free and unhindered by the rules and laws and codes of obligation and duty that everyone else seemed compelled to follow.

“Ser...Alistair?" He’d become almost as famous as the Hero of Ferelden for helping to end the Blight. And for being her lover. And for turning out to be the heir to the throne of Ferelden, though he'd eagerly abdicated that responsibility to King Cailan’s widow, Anora, who most people agreed was a far more competent ruler than any of the men who had been competing for the position.

He’d been one of Wesley’s charges as a new recruit to the Templar Order. And he’d joined the Wardens before his Templar training was even complete, before the disastrous Battle at Ostagar, in which she saw the majority of the Wardens slaughtered. And she remembered him being a real pain in the ass, due to his mysterious connections to the royal family, and a certain closeness he had with the young King. She remembered Wesley’s relief when Ser Duncan took him in, though he worried about what had happened to him, hoping he'd survived Ostagar somehow, though in the chaos that followed, maybe he'd have been better off if he hadn't.

“Aye. Where is Ser Wesley? I’d like to apologize to him for being such a little shit all those years ago!”

“Wesley...perished. During the Blight, as we fled Lothering. Fighting off an ogre.” It had been a long time since she’d said his name or even thought about that horrible day, in which she’d lost her first husband, but somehow gained a new family as they fled Ferelden. She chose to omit the part about him being hopelessly tainted after sustaining a wound from a poisoned Darkspawn arrow. And how she and the Hawke siblings were the ones who actually fought that cursed ogre in order to keep it from desecrating Wesley’s living corpse before she could bring herself to put him to rest. And Flemeth’s sudden intervention that had saved them all from the horde. He didn’t need to know any of that. Nobody did. Aveline wished she herself could forget most of it.

Donnic took a few steps toward them, joining her at her side. She’d lost her best friend, some of her closest companions, and the last thing she needed as they were desperately trying to save Bethany and the other mages from the insane wrath of the Knight-Commander was a reminder of her dead husband and all that she’d lost during the Blight.

“I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good Templar. A good man.” Alistair suddenly looked very lonely. He had lost nearly everyone he knew to the Blight, too. And like her, he’d had to start anew.

But Aveline didn’t have time to reminisce with this person she’d only known as a young recruit. If they survived this, maybe then they could catch up. Wesley would’ve wanted to hear all about his adventures with the Hero of Ferelden. “What are you doing here, Warden-Commander?”

“It’s a long story. But here, specifically? We just took down a really _ugly_ abomination, and some of its friends. Looked to be quite a bit of blood magic involved. They seemed pretty determined to steal your boat. Seems something is causing everyone to lose their cool a bit around here. We thought we’d lend a hand as we were passing through.”

“Aveline!” A more familiar voice rang out. More recent in her memories. Its bearer appeared from around a corner, cleaning black ichor off his giant two-handed maul with a satisfied grin.

He turned to Alistair and nodded. “Got the last of the little monsters, Commander!” He seemed quite proud of himself. And his Commander nodded at him in approval.

Aveline could hardly contain her joy at seeing him, as inappropriate as it felt given their current circumstances. “Carver?! You’re not the Hawke everyone is looking for, but you’ll do!”

“What has Big Sister done this time?” he groaned, slinging his huge weapon behind his back with an exaggerated eye roll. He and Hawke always looked more like twins than he and Bethany ever did.

Aveline’s eyes nearly betrayed her as she desperately searched above and below his for something to say. Why had she brought up Hawke? How could she lie to _him_? But she knew she had to. Or at least try to. Until they could get somewhere private, at least.

Fortunately, Donnic intervened. “I’m so sorry, Carver. She’s gone.”

Aveline nodded slowly, eyeing the younger brother of her best friend to see if he believed it.

He blinked. Marian Hawke was invincible. She had never gotten herself into a scrape she couldn’t talk or stab her way out of.

Alistair had been listening, and watching, too. “That big boom we felt…?”

Aveline looked darkly at Carver, who still seemed to be processing the news, before answering him, “Anders.”

“Ah, yes...everyone’s favorite apostate Warden spirit healer…” Alistair sighed. He had only met Anders a handful of times, and spoken even fewer words with him than that. But he knew that the mage had been close with Brosca after the Blight. Before she’d been called away to Weisshaupt. And if the rumors were true, he couldn’t blame him for leaving after she’d left.

“That fucking Abomination…” Carver growled. He wasn’t in the mood to feel anything but uncomplicated rage for the maniac who’d apparently just gotten his sister killed.

“He was...troubled,” was all Aveline could think to say. Why she felt the need to defend him was beyond her ability to comprehend after all that they’d been through because of him in the past few hours.

“...but she must’ve known, right? How could she not have known her blighted  _boyfriend_ was up to something?! What about the others? Why didn’t anyone report him to the Templars? You _knew_ he was an Abomination! You’re the fucking Captain of the City Guard!”

Aveline could only say, “I’m sorry,” in response to his anger. He was right, of course. Even with Hawke alive, it didn’t change the fact that they should’ve tried harder to stop him. But how could she even begin to explain how bad things had gotten in the city? How little anyone trusted anyone else. Hawke and her little group of companions, in spite of their many differences, at least had each other, and loyalty within the group was one of the few things that had still felt sacred. Which is why his betrayal had been so devastating.

But now they were gone, too. Even Varric, one of the few from their group who had actually gotten along with Hawke’s chippy, younger, impossibly more obnoxious brother was on the run and supposed to be dead, or at least missing. He might’ve been able to explain. Carver had only ever seen the tiniest glimpses of the growing unrest before he’d had to join the Wardens. Hawke’s letters to him only contained offhand mentions of the inevitable clash between Templars and mages, and Bethany neglected to mention it altogether, knowing how much it would upset him. He could never have understood how conflicted all of them were about Anders, about everything.

“You’re sorry, huh?!” he looked at Aveline, his eyes were almost as electrifyingly blue-green as Hawke’s and they were full of outrage.

Alistair put a hand on his shoulder, as much a command as it was a gesture of sympathy. “There will be time for this later.”

“Carver, I --” Aveline wanted to explain, even though she knew she couldn’t.

“Where’s Bethany?” he demanded, shrugging Alistair’s hand away, and interrupting what could only have been another inadequate apology. It reminded Aveline of the way Hawke had shrugged off Fenris on the steps of the Chantry earlier that evening. The same anger and fighting energy in Carver’s face that had been in his sister’s as she struggled against the realization that she’d lost someone so dear.

“The Gallows, I think. We are headed there now. Hoping we can prevent the Knight-Commander from enacting the Right of Annulment.”

“Well, fuck that! Let’s go. I’m not going to lose another sister tonight.” She was the only thing left of his family, his life before the Wardens, and Maker-be-damned if he was going to let this wretched shithole of a city have her, too.

What Hawke had been missing was something more urgent to distract her from her despair. At least Aveline could offer her brother that much.

“Pssst! Hey! Over here!” someone hissed at them.

Aveline peered into the shadows. Two glowing green eyes beckoned to her from a dock nearby.

“Seriously, Guard-Captain! I’m trying to help you! Come get this boat. It’s one of the only good ones left.”

“Athenril?”

“Yes…?”

“What are you doing?”

“We’ve been out sabotaging Templar boats tonight ever since one of my people overheard Meredith’s plan. Apologies for doing yours, too. My guys aren’t always the brightest...but you know that.”

“Thank you. I guess?”

“Well, we had only just started poking holes in it when the blood mages and demons and Wardens showed up. So be sure to give them the repair bill. And if you could let the other vandalism charges slip from your memory once things have settled down...”

“Hrmmm…”

“Aveline!” Carver was ready to swim across to the Gallows if she didn’t accept Athenril’s terms immediately.

“Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you!”

Carver motioned to the other Wardens to follow them. Alistair nodded to his squad, and they readied themselves to join the group of Guardsmen as they made their way across the Harbor.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, once again, I find myself having to add chapters because I really just wanted to wrap up the whole endgame sans Hawke in one nice Aveline-centric chapter, with like a nice quick roundup of everyone (yay TEAMWORK), but I couldn't keep myself from writing these conversations. We will get to the Gallows eventually!


	3. Enchanter Bethany Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guardsmen, Wardens, and mages fight their way into the Gallows to await the final standoff with the Templars.

\---

Carver was the first one off the boat, jumping the last few feet between them and the docks as they approached. He was off sprinting toward the Gallows before any of the others had even begun to disembark.

They could hear some shouting, but unlike most of the battles Aveline had been a part of, the sounds of metal clashing against metal, swords and shields colliding, bows being strung and arrows let fly, darkspawn screeching and being hacked to bits, all the usual clamor of physical fights, were notably missing. It may have been eerily quiet, but the smell and taste and sting of lyrium reacting with all the raw magical energy in the air was overwhelming to their senses, and it told them enough -- that the battle between the mages and Templars had already begun.

All attempts to negotiate between the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander had apparently failed. By the time they reached the courtyard of the Gallows, Orsino and a group of mages were trying to fight their way inside while Meredith’s most loyal squad of hand-picked Templars advanced on them. It seemed ludicrous to Aveline that they would try to hole up inside while Meredith assembled the rest of the Order outside, ready to seal the place off and burn it down, if necessary. But then, she thought, what other choice did they have? Aveline looked back over her shoulder at the Harbor. Maybe they could just try to discreetly load as many people as they could onto as many boats as they could find and sail away into the night. Leave this cursed place behind to burn and smolder away as it always seemed destined to do.

But then she heard Carver cry out to his sister up ahead, “BETHANY!”

And she watched as Orsino sent an entire squad of Templars flying from the entrance with a massive fireball, revealing the younger Hawke sister at his side, holding her own in the fray, drawing upon her powers to change the very rules of time and space, slowing down and immobilizing any unfriendly foes who dared to approach the gates. She turned to acknowledge her brother with a grim nod as he approached, somehow immune to the effects of her magic, or maybe just really good at finding the gaps.

The Wardens seemed unfazed by any of it, and the younger Guardsmen, some of whom had never had to deal with much more than chasing down a purse-snatcher or separating a couple of drunken brawlers, seemed to take at least some confidence from their new Warden allies.

But Aveline was focused on the Hawke twins, the younger siblings of her best friend. Two people she’d come to regard as her own family, as well. They had both grown so much these past few years. Into adults. With the weight of the world upon them. No longer tagging along in their sister’s shadow, they’d become powerful and formidable, in their own ways. She watched as Carver swung his maul at a Templar that had somehow inched his way up the steps, a glowing, crackling sword aimed at his sister, only to be knocked off-balance as he dodged the first attack, and slammed back down with incredible force by Bethany’s magic.

She couldn’t imagine herself being anywhere but fighting with them, at their side. It may have been a blighted ogre the last time the three of them fought together, and now it was the whole blighted Templar Order. Even if it meant being trapped with them in the Gallows to await their fate at Meredith’s hands, so be it! They had outrun the Blight together...maybe they’d be able to see this through as well.

Orsino’s attack had done them a great service in thinning out the Templars between them and the entrance. With the Wardens and the Guardsmen charging up the steps behind them once Bethany’s spell had worn off, they managed to quickly dispatch any that remained in their way.

Aveline just hoped that the rest of the mages realized they were allies. The City Guard had a mixed reputation, with rumors of Aveline’s personal alliances often holding more weight in public opinion than her actual actions and decisions as Captain of the Guard, which, up until today, had always been carefully considered in order to maintain at least some semblance of neutrality.

“Glad you could join us, Guard-Captain!” the First Enchanter nodded gratefully toward Aveline. He certainly wasn’t about to take her aid for granted. “And I see you brought some Grey Wardens, too?”

“You can thank Carver for that. Or Bethany, I suppose, since he’s clearly here for his sister.” She tilted her head toward the twins who were working seamlessly together now, sending Templars running, or flying, in several cases, away from the entrance as though they were swatting at flies. They hadn’t seen each other in about three years, and had only really fought together like this a handful of times in their lives, but they seemed to have fallen quite naturally back into synch. 

“Remind me to do so just as soon as we are all safe inside. Is the Champion on her way, as well? It seems unlike her to miss something like this.”

Aveline shook her head and looked away from him. She simply said, “No.” It was beginning to get a bit old and exhausting to keep implying Hawke was dead.

“I see.” Orsino looked sad, disappointed, but he knew now that there could be no diplomacy with Meredith, not even if Hawke had been there to try and talk some sense into her. She had made it clear that even their complete surrender wasn't enough to spare their lives from her unhinged wrath.

Another wave of Templars had managed to make their way toward the entrance, and it was Bethany this time that cleared them away, with a massive telekinetic blast. It kept them back just long enough for the remaining mages, Guardsmen, and Wardens to slip inside the gates.

…

“Brother!” Bethany threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over, as everyone else set about barricading the courtyard entrance with all the physical and magical means available to them.

“Little Sister!” he shouted with relief, allowing the full weight of her to sink into him, pressing his armor so hard against him that he imagined he’d have bruises. He had missed hugs. Especially full-body Hawke family bear hugs. He’d realized rather quickly after joining the Wardens just how much he’d taken them for granted.

“Am I still just your _Little_ Sister?” Bethany playfully whined at him. “I’m pretty sure I saved your life half a dozen times out there!”

“Oh well, forgive me, _Master Enchanter_ Little Sister. But you will always be three minutes younger, I’m afraid, no matter how good you get at manipulating time and space," he grinned. "Oh, and thank you."

“How did you end up here? And now? What magnificent timing _you_ have! Or terrible, I guess, depending on how you look at it.”

“We felt the explosion in the Deep Roads, but -- ”

Orsino broke through their family reunion, with an urgent plea. “We don’t have long before they break through the barriers we set. Gather everyone who can fight and bring them here! This is where we must make our stand. Against the Templars. Against oppression. Against injustice! We are all apostates now. There can be no resolution.” 

Aveline hated the sound of that, even though she knew he was right. She only hoped her Guardsmen posted around the city could still believe in compromise as they attempted to keep the peace across the Harbor.

Bethany squeezed her brother again and without another word headed off to round up whomever she could find.

“Bethany! Wait!” Carver shouted after her. “Marian is --” but she was already out of earshot, and he didn’t really know if he’d have been able to finish that sentence anyway. He would have to wait to tell her. He wasn’t even sure if they could survive this standoff with the Templars, and what good it would've done to tell her now, while they were all preparing to fight for their lives.

…

Meredith was standing near the docks, taking account of the damages they’d suffered as the mages fought their way back into the Gallows. She seemed calm, unfazed by their minor successes at holding her forward guard off. Perhaps she thought this actually helped her in achieving her ultimate goal. After all, a mass execution was certainly easier if they were all in one place.

“What took you so long, Knight-Captain?” she snapped, without even really looking at Cullen as he arrived with another boat full of Templars from the main city. A few members of the City Guard had joined them. It seemed Ser Agatha and the Guardsman that Aveline had sent to fetch him had done well at recruiting several others to their cause.

Cullen walked cautiously toward her. “You sent me to help with the aftermath in Hightown…”

“Yes, yes, well, there’s a mess in _there_ that needs cleaning up now.” She waved her hand toward the Gallows. “The sooner, the better. Take your men and deal with the rebellious mages. We will round up any strays out here and begin our executions once the Circle has been locked down.”

“Knight-Commander, please, can we just take a moment to consider…” 

She finally looked at him. Her eyes, which had been cool, calm, even a bit smug a few moments earlier, were suddenly full of outrage that he dared to question her decision. “Orsino and his followers will not ‘take a moment,’ Ser Cullen. And a moment is all it will take for them to unleash _another_ attack. What’s next? The Keep? Templar Hall? I doubt these crazed abominations would think twice about blowing up the Gallows and all the mages inside. They are probably in there now sacrificing their own for some unholy blood magic ritual to defeat us. This Circle is beyond redemption.” 

Ser Agatha, lower-ranking than Cullen, but growing more and more incredulous as Meredith spewed her ugly vitriol, came forward. “But the Chantry...that was the act of a single apostate!”

“Yes. One whom _Ser Cullen_ seems to have had plenty of opportunities to take care of. But he failed at that, too.”

Agatha turned to him, with a hint of betrayal on her face. She understood the difficulty of their position. But why _hadn’t_ he taken Anders in when he had the chance?

Her gaze made Cullen uncomfortable. And Meredith’s return to smug satisfaction with this stinging accusation only made it worse. Still, they had rules. Vows. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be done. Someone needed to remind her. “But surely the Right of Annulment requires something more than --”

“It requires _my_ word.”

“You do not have approval from the Chantry!”

He knew she didn’t. He knew she had been specifically forbidden from invoking the Right of Annulment by the Divine herself, because Leliana had told him as much. Hadn’t she? Unless...no. She would’ve mentioned it, surely, in their conversation earlier that night. Right? He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. What if that’s what had suddenly brought the Nightingale unannounced to Kirkwall on this horrible day? To bear witness, or to relay a message to the Knight-Commander...or both? Doubt was beginning to sink in. It was starting to feel just like before.

“Grand Cleric Elthina is dead because the Divine failed to give us the authority we needed to protect her.”

At least she admitted it, then. She was going rogue, operating without the authority of the church. And, though there was plenty else to be anxious about, he could at least still believe in the morality of his favorite religious institution. For now. That would have to be enough to bolster him against this insanity.

“Enough of this! Go now! Prepare the Gallows to be purged of every last one of these wretched creatures! This has been a long time coming, and I’m eager to begin.”

Cullen shook his head, eyeing her defiantly. He couldn’t bring himself to give the order. Not with the knowledge that so many innocent mages would die at his command. And knowing that the Divine had forbidden it. He’d nearly made the same mistake before, at Kinloch Hold, and it was only through the Hero of Ferelden’s intervention that they had chosen not to annul the Circle, saving so many innocent lives. He’d vowed never again to let his fears overtake his belief in the goodness of people, mages or not.

“Then I will do what you are too weak to do,” Meredith snarled in disgust.

She turned to her own personal entourage, which had grown noticeably thinner in the preceding fights, pointed to the barricaded gate, and shouted, “Break it down!”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write fight scenes for shit, but this was an excellent opportunity to practice, I guess!


	4. Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orsino gives in. Cullen makes a decision (for once). And Aveline is just all "wtf did I get myself into?!"

\---

When the choking sting of magic and lyrium and the sounds of close combat had finally died down enough for them to take stock of their surroundings, it was clear that they had sustained significant losses, but the Templars who’d come through the barricades had fared even worse. The few who had survived their confrontation with a Circle full of cornered mages and their newfound allies went running back to where the rest of the Order was assembling outside, and the mages still held the Gallows.

But Orsino didn’t seem to be savoring this victory, their second big success of the night. He knew they were trapped. He knew their long-term outcomes looked grim. He knelt down, closing the empty eyes of one of the young apprentices and sighed.

“Look at it all. Why don’t they just drown us as infants? Why wait? Why give us the illusion of hope?”

Bethany squatted down beside him, placing a conciliatory hand on his arm. The boy had been one of her first students. He had shown such promise as a healer. So they had focused on that, hoping it might make him a valuable asset to the Circle, to the Chantry, instead of the combat magic that might have been more useful to him tonight.

She blinked back a few tears and looked up at the other mages, quietly taking in the losses all around them, stepping over dead Templars cautiously, avoiding their enchanted blades, just in case. There was no visible outrage. There were no loud wails of grief or hair-pulling or despair. Even now, as they fought for their lives, knowing that they still might all be mercilessly executed at the whim of a madwoman, these mages were well-mannered, reserved, careful not to let their emotions get away from them. It wasn’t for fear of demons finding them and taking advantage of their moments of weakness, as they had been told time and time again was the reason for their imprisonment and subjugation. But a learned fear of being noticed for caring or feeling too much. And it broke Bethany’s heart to see her fellow mages so afraid to express their grief. Their anger. Even their relief at still being alive. They were already practically Tranquil. And they definitely didn’t dare to hope for anything more.

Suddenly, she caught herself repeating something Orsino had said to her when she had first been brought to the Circle, when she was angry, too angry, having had a life outside the prison, having known freedom, taken it for granted, even, until she'd had it taken away. It was something that reminded her of her own father, though he had never said the exact words: “There is always hope. It is never anyone else’s to give or take away.”

Orsino stood up, shrugging her off, and began to walk away. His back stiffened. He stopped. It was just a dumb cliche. A thing mages told each other because their lives _were_ utterly hopeless.

Something strange had come over the First Enchanter. He pulled a knife from his robes that was imbued with some kind of blighted magic. There were dark oily swirls hanging heavily around the object, and it was dripping with...blood? Not the right color for that. Too green, too sickly, too thick. Maybe really old blood? Maybe poison? Did he mean to kill himself now? Or was this something more sinister than that? It was like nothing Aveline had ever seen, and that was saying something because she’d seen a lot of fucked-up shit. It made her stomach lurch. Made her question the past few decisions she’d made that put her in the same room with this, whatever it was. Made her look around and take stock of all the possible exits, their accessibility to her Guardsmen, Donnic, and the Hawkes...

Carver took one look at the First Enchanter and rolled his eyes, exasperated by the dramatic display. “Are you really giving up? Now?!”

“I am not giving _up_. I am giving _in_.” It was a line he had meant to deliver with more gravity, before slicing his arm open, but Orsino’s face twisted into annoyance at the interruption, and he hesitated.

“Okay, but we just fought off the worst of her forward guard. The rest are ambivalent at best. They’re more likely to desert than to come in here and start murdering innocent mages. You saw them all hanging back while we fought our way in, didn’t you?”

Orsino sighed, lowering the blade for a moment. He looked like himself again. Sad, tired, but himself. “More will come. You know this. If not from Kirkwall, then from all across Thedas. They will not allow this insurrection. Not for long. Retribution will be brutal for this _insult_ to their way of life, to the ‘order’ of things which they hold so dear.”

“You don’t _know_ that…please, First Enchanter. Stand _with_ us,” Bethany pleaded, “while we still have this chance!”

He looked at her, an apology in his face. He wanted desperately to believe they could survive this, but he was tired. And he knew, from a lifetime of fighting, that this battle was unending. The demon promised him rest. And promised to use his death to make them pay for lives ruined, souls crushed and beaten, a lifetime of love...forbidden.

The strangeness had returned. His eyes went dull, and then he laughed at her, filled with a sudden energy that wasn’t his own. “I wish that I had your optimism, your youth, your naivete! But I have seen enough of this world, and I am tired of playing by other people’s rules.” It was cruel, condescending. Not the First Enchanter that Bethany knew.

“Meredith expects blood magic? Then I will give it to her!” He reached out toward Bethany, as she shook her head in disbelief. “Join me, my child…”

He held the enchanted knife up again and muttered some otherworldly incantation.

Aveline could not make out much, but it sounded a bit like the kinds of things Fenris often used to mutter to himself. Except even more dark and demonic.

“Mother fucker…” Carver grabbed Bethany’s arm as Orsino dug the blade deep into his own arm and continued reaching toward her, through her, toward the other mages. Several of the dead, both mages and Templars, were pulled toward him, into an unnatural embrace, nearly knocking Bethany down, but she managed to dodge them, as Carver pulled her further out of the way. Many of the other mages, still alive, seemed to be caught up in some kind of trance, the same dullness in Orsino's eyes reflected in theirs.

Alistair recognized the magic. It reeked of the filth and decay and despair of the Deep Roads and reminded him of the worst of his nightmares. He had never met a Harvester, but Brosca had, and she’d been sure to fill him in on enough of the details to make his skin crawl. But why here? Why now? It didn’t really matter, he supposed. This was just turning into one of those days.

“Shit…” he muttered. “I hope we’re all ready to fight some more monsters!”

“What now?” Stroud whispered, having just finished cleaning the blood off of his sword.

“He’s doing what he thinks he has to...” Nathaniel muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Mind your back. And your mustache. There will be more of them.”

…

Cullen was pacing, trying to figure out what to do next now that he’d made it clear to Meredith he was not going to be following her unsanctioned orders to purge the Gallows. Should they just leave? What if there were people inside in need of healing or other kinds of care? The mages could probably take care of each other, assuming there were enough of them left, but what about any surviving Templars? He was preparing himself to head inside, with whomever else was willing to extend an olive branch to the mages and their allies so that order might be restored. But the screeches of demons and Maker-knows-what-other-unholy-creatures suddenly met them from inside the Gallows.

Meredith turned toward them all with a hideous grin. It had gotten eerily quiet after the initial charge, which had seemed like a clear victory for the mages as the few surviving Templars came rushing back out to them in retreat. But this...Meredith seemed to be delighted at the sudden change in events.

“Now do you see? Your hesitation has only allowed them time to reveal what they have always been!”

But Ser Agatha remained strong in her own dedication to the vows _she’d_ taken. “There may still be some inside worth saving. We should go help them.”

Agatha’s eyes were fixed on the Gallows, her hand on her sword. She was ready to fight for what she believed in, with or without her Commander’s permission.

“You are a fool if you think there is anything ‘worth saving’ in there now!” Meredith laughed. Agatha refused to look at her, refused to respond. As far as she was concerned, Meredith no longer had any authority over her.

“There is the Litany of Adralla…” Cullen said, knowing full well what the response would be. He’d secured a copy of the ancient text from Tevinter several years ago, and presented it to the Knight-Commander Meredith as a precaution, expecting her to be grateful for his resourcefulness, and reassured in her increasing paranoia about blood magic and mage possession. But she’d tossed it aside, laughing at him, even then, and she refused to speak of it again, let alone include mention of it in any official Templar training.

“You, of all people, should know what an impermanent, ineffectual solution _that_ bit of ancient fantasy is in our current situation.”

“It worked. In Ferelden. Warden-Commander Brosca --”

“And yet, here we are! Another corrupted Circle! Full of demons and abominations, some probably even from that same cursed place, allowed to live, to cross the Sea and poison our city, too. A band-aid at best. More likely a fairy tale for you to cling to in your weakness.”

Cullen _had_ needed a fairy tale, and there was no denying his weakness in the way he had acted back then, full of fear and hatred that he still felt compelled to atone for every time he remembered those dark days. Brosca had been the hero he needed, like a stout little knight in shining Warden armor. While so much of the incident was still foggy in his recollection, having spent time in and out of the Fade, he knew he hadn’t imagined it. The Litany had aided them in freeing a number of mages before they could be corrupted. If he could find it, assuming Meredith hadn’t destroyed it, he was certain it could still be used to save some of them.

Meredith continued with her cruel declarations, acting as though the situation was still within her control in spite of the fact that her next-in-command and one of her lieutenants were openly planning to defy her. “No. We must send a message here. To all of Thedas. There shall be no compromises. No sympathy for this evil.”

Cullen turned to Agatha, who was still staring determined at the Gallows, gathering the courage to go in herself if she had to. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

Agatha nodded back at him, grateful for at least one ally. A larger group of Templars had begun to form behind them. Fewer and fewer stood in front of Meredith, as she continued shouting.

Cullen turned to acknowledge the others, then looked at Agatha expectantly. Was he...awaiting orders?

She took a deep breath, then turned to address the defectors. “Right, sooo...uhhh...we can all hear what’s happening in there, right?”

They shifted uneasily, uncertain, unmoved by her words. Perhaps a bit fearful, too. No, most of them were definitely scared shitless.

“As Templars, we swore to protect these mages,” she continued. “We have failed.”

Cullen looked down at his feet. Then back at his men again. No. There was still some hope.

Agatha’s voice suddenly got much louder, more defiant. “Our only goal now is to save as many people as we can! Mage, Templar, Warden, or Guardsman...ALL DESERVE A CHANCE! ALL DESERVE MERCY!”

A few of them, feeling a little more emboldened by her words, shouted in affirmation. But the inspirational speech and the shouts of those who were willing to follow Ser Agatha and Cullen into the fray were all cut short by Meredith’s shrieking.

“MERCY? _MERCY_?! Mercy is for people. Not monsters, and those who foolishly try to protect them.”

Cullen had had enough of her. He didn’t want to wait to hear any more of what she had to say. He lifted his sword toward the gates, now open wide, like the mouth of some great beast waiting to consume them, and charged in, hoping at least someone would follow him.

...

“NO! STOP!” Bethany was shouting to her fellow mages, those who had been drawn into whatever this was, as she attempted to put barriers up around herself and those around her. “We can fight this...we have a choice!”

Her exhortations managed to break the spell for a few, but Orsino’s magic, or rather, the magic of the demon he’d allowed to possess him, was powerful, amplified by all the fresh death surrounding them.

Bethany tried desperately to think back through all her training, both in and out of the Circle. She’d heard that the Hero of Ferelden had been able to stop Uldred from turning all the mages into abominations like this at Kinloch Hold. How? She wasn’t even a mage! Alistair had been there...Cullen, too, though she wasn’t certain the Knight-Captain would consider himself an ally to them now.

She looked behind her where the Warden-Commander was bracing for another fight. He didn’t seem to have any bright ideas about how to save them. Maybe it _was_ hopeless, after all.

“How the hell can we tell who’s on our side?!” Aveline shouted, as she watched a young mage transform right in front of her eyes, looking helplessly at her as she felt herself losing control to the pull of whatever Orsino had become.

Aveline had known her, her family, for a few years. She had been a quiet girl, always polite, like most apostates. Her mother had tried to keep her out of the Circle as long as she could, but her magic began to manifest in ways that became too obvious to neighbors when she started reviving their dead pets who would often return home to their horrified owners in various states of decay. Her mother had turned her over to the Templars when people had begun threatening violence against her family, with the promise that she’d get the training she needed to control her remarkable powers, to use them for good. Her mother visited her almost daily. Brought her sweets and books and did everything she could to try and make it up to her daughter. But there was no way to make it up to a frightened child who’d been sent to prison by her own mother just for being who she was. This confusion, fear, despair, loneliness, and anger...it all rose up and consumed her now.

Aveline dodged as the demon swung its overgrown talons at her. It had taken on the corrupted form of a domestic animal gone feral, with the long canine snout and rabid, baring teeth of a dog, and the sharp, murderous claws of a large cat. It hissed and it growled at her like a cornered beast as she tried to defend herself against a monster she didn’t want to kill. Maybe she could change back? Wasn’t there something, some spell or something, that could give her a chance? Aveline had also heard vague tales of what had happened in the Circle of Ferelden. If she could just _contain_ this one, surely some part of that sweet little girl could be saved.

“That one’s no longer on our side, Guard-Captain!” Alistair shouted, seeing her hesitate in putting the creature out of its misery.

Aveline had no choice. The thing was trying to rip her apart, and it seemed specifically designed to do so. She swung her sword, feeling it stick a little as it travelled through the monster’s chest, then thrusting it through even harder, severing its spine. It was a sickening sensation, the reverberation of vertebrae meeting steel travelling back up the sword into her arm. It was something Aveline never got used to, no matter how many times she’d done it, no matter how much she’d told herself it was one of the least painful ways to die. This was the same mercy she’d granted to Wesley, but at least he’d been able to ask for it. She watched the demon crumple to the ground. She could still see the little girl there, in its frightened, pleading eyes. Too many of them, of course, but they were still hers. They blinked back the tears the girl had wanted to shed before she’d become this thing. Aveline tried to believe they were tears of gratitude. Another thrust of her sword and the eyes went blank. No more tears. No more torment. No more demon. Then, the Guard-Captain vomited.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this. It's like, all over the place, and not very polished. And I recently learned to kind of hate Origins Cullen, so we're focusing a lot on redeeming him here. Like a lot a lot. Agatha to the rescue, again!


	5. Ser Raleigh Samson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Ser Agatha lead a group of Templars to save anyone who is left inside the Gallows against Meredith's orders. Ser Raleigh Samson joins them.

\---

Aveline recovered quickly. She had to. There was an even bigger Abomination (with a capital A) to deal with, and this one wasn’t shedding any pitiable tears. She turned around to see axes and broadswords and arrows all converging on the grotesque pile of flesh that had coalesced around Orsino. Wardens and Guardsmen took turns charging at the thing, dodging its thick, flailing limbs, and covering each other’s backs from the attackers behind them. The mages who still remained in control of themselves were busy with healing spells and barriers and whatever ranged attacks they could manage in between defensive spells. They seemed especially afraid of getting too close and being consumed by the hulking monster, but it was nearly impossible to keep up with the undead corpses, shades, demons, and other horrors being summoned all around them. With every death, every fresh drop of blood shed, each bit of life leeched, their enemies seemed to be getting more numerous and more powerful.

“Aim for the head! It controls the rest!” Alistair shouted to them, as he fought off a group of despair demons that had suddenly surrounded him.

He was trying to ignore the familiar stature that one of them had adopted under its tattered cloak as it shifted into existence this side of the Veil. Shorter than the others. Less waiflike. Sturdy, even, as if it actually had legs that connected it with the ground. Legs that had grown from the ground up, nurtured by it, even, unlike any demon, born and raised in the ethereal Fade. He recognized its gait, having followed it through hell and back so many times over the years. The glint of old, rusty, corroded armor underneath...silver and royal blue drenched in mud and blood and frost.

Nope.

He steeled his mind against imagining what, or who, might be grinning at him underneath that hollow hood. “You’re not her,” he muttered, swinging his sword and lopping off its head, or whatever was holding up the hood of its cloak, as it tried to shoot a wave of ice at him. It fell to the ground, nothing but a heap of rags that dissipated into oily smoke. He breathed a sigh of relief, then set out to cut down the rest of them before they could fully materialize into other familiar shapes.

Aveline caught up with Donnic just in time to shield his back from a barrage of arrows from a group of newly-resurrected corpses.

“Thanks, dear,” he nodded in appreciation before turning to attack the skeletal archers behind him.

“Watch your back, Guardsman!” She gave him a _look_ that said she’d never forgive him if he died tonight, before moving to cover Bethany, who’d built up enough mana again to unleash Maker’s Fury on the golem of dead bodies in front of them.

Aveline charged after it, taking her turn, bashing it with her shield and giving Bethany the perfect opportunity to unleash her attack.

With the monster knocked down, the Wardens, but especially Carver, swarmed in to hack at it, concentrating their efforts near its head, as Alistair had suggested. But the thing somehow managed to dislodge itself from the rest of its body and scurry away before anyone could kill it.

“What the bloody flames!?” Carver slammed his maul in frustration into the now-lifeless stack of corpses they’d all just been attacking. It made a sickening sort of squick sound, and Aveline had to fight back the urge to vomit yet again. Whatever blighted magic that had held the mass of corrupted flesh together and animated it against them just moments before had utterly abandoned it now. It was just a pile of dead bodies, many of them with familiar faces.

“I told you all to go for the _head_!” Alistair had finally dealt with the last of the despair demons and caught up to the main fight, trying to catch his breath in the process. “Maker, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“We did! But the ugly little bastard...jumped!” Stroud, who had at least a decade on Alistair, looked more annoyed than exhausted, though his mustache was doing its best to hide his sneer. Their Commander was always a bit too soft for his liking. He found it difficult to imagine him having had any part in ending the last Blight.

Aveline was looking toward the exits again. “Where could that _thing_ have gone?” Maybe it had just gone to go die quietly somewhere. Or back to the Deep Roads, she hoped. She knew they probably weren’t that lucky. But it was a nice thought, at least.

“It’s still here. It’s resting…” Bethany sighed. She was leaning against Aveline, propped up by her staff on the other side, still recovering from the first wave of the fight. It had taken more out of her than usual, more than most of the rest of them, as she was fighting against the influence and temptation of the First Enchanter’s blood magic in addition to maintaining protective barriers around her brother, Aveline, and herself while casting offensive spells whenever she could. She’d used up all but one of her lyrium potions. “I still feel its magic. The pull of it…”

Carver grabbed her staff and pulled her to lean against him, too, wrapping his arm around her shoulders a little tighter than he probably meant to. “Oh no you don’t!”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder, tired, but not defeated. “Don’t worry...it hasn’t got me yet.”

...

“About time someone put that crazy bitch in her place, eh, Captain?”

Cullen turned to see that one of the Templars who’d followed him and Ser Agatha into the Gallows was Raleigh Samson, his familiar pale, snakelike face and broken, twisted smile beaming back at him now. It was no surprise to anyone that he would go against Meredith’s orders, having never been a fan of the Knight-Commander’s tactics in dealing with the mages, or the strict control she exercised over her soldiers. And the feeling was mutual. But it _was_ surprising that he’d chosen to follow them right into the middle of this mess. Cullen would have expected him to have fled the city, or to be lying low in Lowtown, waiting for this all to blow over. He never would have expected him to be anywhere near the Gallows at a time like this.

He’d been just recently re-instated, after reporting Thrask’s thwarted conspiracy to unseat Meredith, at Cullen’s urging, and under his supervision. He’d been dismissed a few years ago for allowing his sympathies to get the best of him when it was discovered he’d been helping a mage send letters outside of the Circle. Homeless, unemployed, and sick from withdrawal, he’d been forced to beg for whatever scraps or odd jobs people were willing to hand his way.

Cullen knew that reporting the plot had been more of an opportunistic move than an act of loyalty on Samson’s part, since the plan had already gone awry, and the Champion had been forced to put it all to rest herself, but Cullen had taken pity on him and tried his best to work with the man. Whatever his reasons for sticking around, he hoped his old ‘compromising mage sympathies’ might make him an asset to them now.

“We are just trying to do what is right. What we swore to do in our vows. And if Meredith seems to... _disagree_ with our interpretation, with the Divine’s...with the Chant of Light itself, perhaps…” he trailed off, just short of calling her a heretic. Sister Nightingale, as terrifying and dangerous as he knew her to be, had begun to open his eyes to the grace and generosity that could be found in the Chant. But he wasn’t confident enough in his own understandings, nor did he have the authority to make _that_ call.

“Aye! Still not willing to disrespect your Commander, I see, even as you openly disobey her,” Samson sounded disappointed, but not all that surprised. He was still smiling. His sickening grin was Cullen’s least favorite part of him, and it always seemed to follow some reminder of his own insecurities.

“She is _your_ Commander, too,” Cullen felt strangely compelled to remind him, more out of habit than anything. Why? Why did this matter now?

“Nah. Not anymore she ain’t. And I doubt she considers you her Captain anymore, either,” he laughed.

As much as she hated to agree with anything the disgraced Templar said, Agatha nodded. “She’s lost her mind, Captain. He’s right. She’s not fit to lead. You have the power to remove her. We’ll stand by you.” She motioned to the others who’d followed them inside the Gallows. It was a significant number of them now. They might have actually had a halfway decent chance against Meredith and what remained of her supporters.

But there was something nagging at Cullen. There usually was. Deep-seated insecurities haunted his dreams and almost every major decision he’d made since the uprising in the Circle in Ferelden. As hard as he tried to seem stalwart and confident, his convictions always felt so fragile under closer examination, ready to shatter at the slightest reminder of his multitude of weaknesses. What if Meredith was right? What if his judgment had been clouded, again, by the fondness he held as a secret in his heart for yet _another_ member of the Amell family?

No. That wasn’t it. Whatever weakness he might have felt for Bethany Hawke, the kind of mage who never needed to be locked away in a Circle, or her sister, the kind of person, who, even without magic, really _should have been_ , or their entire Maker-forsaken family whose fates seemed so insistently interwoven with his own, he could be clear-headed enough about the fact that Meredith was in violation of the Divine’s direct orders. Whatever other interpretations one wished to impose upon the relationship between magic and social order in the Maker’s vision, there was that one rule she had obviously broken.

And Cullen served the Divine. Not his Commander. He’d already made that choice when he had agreed, in secret, to work directly with her Right and Left Hands. Meredith’s unhinged wrath might be terrible, but he didn’t even want to think about what awaited him if he changed his mind and took her side against the Divine’s own Nightingale and Seeker.

“Perhaps.” He did technically have the authority to depose her. Not that it would matter now. Meredith didn’t seem to care much anymore about protocol. If he’d have done something sooner, maybe this could have been avoided. But it was too late. There would have to be a fight. Another fight. Assuming they survived this. “But our first duty is to our vows.”

“Vows...ha!” Samson continued to laugh at him. He couldn’t believe how Cullen, with all he’d seen and lived through here and in Ferelden, could still be so deferential to the Order. To anything! It boggled his mind. Lyrium was one helluva drug, he thought (he knew!), if it could make someone so young, so seemingly fit and healthy and clear-headed as Ser Cullen Rutherford this delusionally loyal to an idea meant to enslave them all.

Samson knew he himself was dependent on the stuff, but he had given up on himself a long time ago. To see his Captain so dependent on the substance and the institutions that supplied it as a means of control actually broke his heart a little. And he hadn’t thought he had much of one left. “This isn’t about vows anymore, Captain. It’s about revenge. You hear them in there, don’t you? The demons feed on their rage, their despair, their fear. You beat a good dog long enough, and it’ll eventually learn to maul you, or die. These are the ones who haven’t died yet. We brought this on ourselves, but the ‘Order,’ your precious ‘vows,’ the Chantry...we’re all victims of them, too.”

Cullen glared at the man mocking him now, wondering why he’d ever argued on his behalf, ever agreed to try and support his return to the Order. It was easier to pity him and hate him than it was to admit he had a point. Samson reveled in chaos, took joy in collapse and decay. He was irredeemable, he had no moral compass, no sense of duty or honor compelling him. He simply did what was easiest, took advantage of people’s kindness, and dishonored the very institutions which had tried to save him. What had made him this way? Surely he hadn’t joined the Order so previously disillusioned? Nobody as cynical as him would have lasted through training.

Addiction, he realized, with a sad little sigh, was a far greater danger to the Order than abominations, even as he prepared himself to face one now. He made some private promise to himself, that if they did actually survive this night, he’d speak to the Seeker about it.

Agatha cleared her throat, hoping to interrupt whatever was happening in the tense silence between them and refocus them on the immediate situation. “We should probably get on with it, then, if we have any hope of saving anyone who’s left?”

Cullen shook his head, turning away from Samson. “Let’s sweep the rooms on either side of the main hall here. I’ll take this side, with the offices, and Ser Agatha, you take the others and sweep the dormitories. There may be mages still hiding from…”

 _Them_. They would be hiding from them. He hadn’t really stopped to think about _that_. Why would any mage in the Circle believe that _these_ Templars were any different from the ones who’d just busted down their barricade in an attempt to execute them?

Ser Agatha turned to the rest of the Templars who’d followed them in, already well aware of this reality. “Right. If you come across any mages who haven’t been possessed, they’re still going to assume you’re here to kill them. You’ve got to make it as clear as you can that you aren’t. Or we’re likely to push even more of them into becoming...”

She hated even saying the word ‘abomination,’ knowing how it put fear and panic into them, and that would only make things worse. “Consider them civilians. Keep your swords hilted, save your lyrium potions, refrain from using Silence or Cleanse or any other anti-magic attacks unless you know, for certain, that they are beyond saving. And for the Maker’s sake, let’s keep Smite as a last resort?”

She shouldn’t have needed to say any of this. It was how things were supposed to be. What their vows, their training, and the discipline and faith of the Order was supposed to prepare them for. But she knew how these Templars in Kirkwall had been conditioned over the years to see all mages as their enemies. To see blood magic and danger everywhere at the slightest whiff or rumor of magic. To believe any mage could be just as bloodthirsty and ready to enslave the entire world as the next. They’d been taught to strike first. To take ‘preventive measures,’ before they even had the chance to seek out the shared humanity in a mage’s eyes. Even the ‘good ones’ here were trigger-happy. And the mages knew it, too, probably better than anyone.

They heard more shouts, more otherworldly screams coming from further inside the Gallows.

“Just...I don’t know? Try to be _people_ first, and Templars _only_ when it’s absolutely necessary!”

It wasn’t exactly an inspirational speech, but it was an important reminder. And Agatha wasn’t certain this work really would’ve benefitted much from getting a bunch of terrified Templars hyped up and full of adrenaline.

“I’ll be joining _you_ , Captain,” Samson muttered, way too close to Cullen’s ear.

Cullen had gotten quite tired of the way he insisted on calling him ‘Captain.’ To mock him, he was certain. “Fine, just don’t get in my way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Hoping you’d mostly be getting in mine, y’know, so that the abominations strike you first.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and headed toward Meredith’s offices, in hopes that he might be able to find something useful on their way into the Gallows Prisons.

They would have to do their best. Maker guide them all.

...

After searching fruitlessly through several rooms, and encountering only a handful of lesser shades who seemed more interested in escaping than fighting, Cullen nearly tripped over a tall, blonde dwarf who stood just inside the door of a room off to the side of Meredith’s main office. He seemed to be waiting to greet them with his hands outstretched.

“Enchantment?” His eyes lit up expectantly.

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing in here?”

But Samson, who had slunk in behind Cullen like his oily shadow, recognized the dwarf immediately. Sandal and his father Bodahn were some of the more charitable residents of the city, always tossing him a few coins or a warm meal. “It’s that Feddic kid! Where’s your father, boy? Are you lost?”

“Enchantment!” he repeated, excitedly, clapping his hands together. He apparently recognized Samson, too.

Cullen shook his head, perplexed. This was not at all what he expected to find here. “This is no place for you. The Circle has become overrun with abominations and…”

“Uh, Captain…”

Cullen finally looked around the rest of the room, noticing the slain mages and Templars who’d clearly tried to hide here during the first attack, along with several undead corpses, and demons, including what appeared to be the fresh remains of a very large Pride demon. He was _almost_ 100% certain this wasn’t a trick or an illusion, that he hadn’t somehow entered the Fade without realizing it, though it certainly was bizarre. “But how did you…?”

“Not enchantment,” Sandal frowned a little. He carried no weapon, yet he appeared completely unharmed and, more disturbingly, mostly unfazed by the evidence of violence surrounding him. There was an open chest beside him with scorch marks and scratches all over it as though someone, or something, had been trying desperately to get into it, but the lock, which had an eerie red glow to it, looked like it had remained intact despite the efforts of whatever it was that had attempted to open it before.

“You don’t say…?” Samson grinned, admiring the boy’s handiwork as he set about looting the corpses for lyrium and coin. He stopped to leaf through some of the papers he found lying on a desk, no doubt looking for anything he might be able to sell to the right people for the right amount of compensation. “There you are…” he muttered in that slippery, scheming voice of his, having apparently found something he thought might be valuable.

The young dwarf reached into the chest and pulled out an old, tattered book. He shoved it into Cullen’s hands, nodding with a large smile on his face.

Cullen was still trying to make sense of his surroundings, checking and double-checking for any sign that he might somehow be imagining things, like before. The nudge of the book brought him back to his present reality. He looked down. The writing on the front was Tevene, but he recognized it. “Is this...the Litany of Adralla?!

The dwarf nodded, his eyes twinkling.

“Where did you get this?”

“The mean lady didn’t want it. She glows with the red. It’s a very bad shiny. That song is sick. It makes everyone very grumpy.”

Cullen took the book. “Thank you, uh, Ser... _ah_ …”

“Feddic,” Samson reminded him, looking curiously at the book in Cullen’s hands and then back at the dwarf.

“Yes. Thank you, Serah Feddic. Now, please go find somewhere safe. Far away from here.”

“Oh-kay…” the young dwarf said, in his sing-songy voice, and he turned and walked out the way they’d come through, care-free and seemingly oblivious. At least he knew it was mostly clear of danger, until the boy ran into Meredith outside, who would _hopefully_ just shoo him away.

“Done here, Captain?”

“Yeah. Let’s find the others and stop this madness.”

Ser Agatha and the other Templars had swept through the dormitories and were fighting a group of minor shades and undead corpses they’d chased out into the main hall. It seemed they’d been able to find some young mages and a few more Templars hiding in the other side rooms, too, and a few of them had even been willing to join the fight. This gave Cullen some hope, at least, that their rescue efforts hadn’t been completely in vain.

Ser Agatha looked curiously at him from the fray. What was he holding?

“This should help!” he shouted, waving the book at her. She couldn’t understand how, but then, he had more experience with this sort of thing than she did.

“We need to get to the Prison’s inner chambers!” she shouted back, always one step ahead of him in terms of bigger strategy, it seemed. She charged toward an arcane horror that dissipated and reappeared behind her, but used the uninterrupted momentum of her charge to swing her sword around just in time to catch it by surprise and slice it in half, clean through the middle.

Samson, still in Cullen’s ear, seemed to agree. “That _is_ where most of these bloody things seem to be coming from.”

“If it’s just one very powerful mage who’s been corrupted, we might be able to cut it off at the source and save the rest!” Agatha yelled to them as she swung her sword and knocked down three more skeletons.

 _One very powerful mage._ She didn’t want to think about who _that_ might be, even though she had begun to recognize bits of his magic enmeshed with the demonic energy. Her stomach flipped. She couldn’t bear to dwell on it. There was still _some_ hope. _There is always hope…_

Cullen nodded, attempting to slice his way through the group of shades that had suddenly turned toward him and surrounded him. Perhaps waving around the one thing that could stop the demons from possessing anymore mages was not the smartest idea he’d had today. Luckily, Samson was there right behind him to help cut a path through them. He was a messy fighter, but tenacious, and his recklessness seemed to serve him well in close combat, at least. Cullen was actually quite grateful for a moment that he'd been so close.

“You may think low of me, Captain...most people do. But never let it be said that I don’t repay favors.” He grinned under the ichor and gore that now covered him. Some of it had even gotten in his mouth and stained his teeth a dark sickening red.

…

By the time they got to the inner chambers of the prison, the majority of the mages were exhausted, weakened by the constant barrage of attacks from the Harvester’s newly-assembled flesh golem, along with all of the other monsters it continued to summon to attack them, and its drain on their magical defenses. Everyone knew exhausted mages were easier to possess, but there was no letting up, no chance for them to rest and recover under these conditions. As the Wardens and Guardsmen continued hacking away at the giant, trying to get to its head before it decided to jump away again, the mages began, one-by-one, to fall into the same sort of trance that the first wave of abominations had succumbed to just before transforming.

“TEMPLARS!” somebody shouted.

“Just what we need…” Nathaniel muttered to himself, stringing his bow and turning toward the new group of enemies coming into range. He knew he could take down a few of them before they’d even realized what horror they’d come upon.

Stroud had turned to size up their new foes as well. “They don’t look like they’re here to fight _us_.”

“How can you possibly tell _that_?” But he had relaxed a little, lowering his bow. He saw it, too.

“Well, they mostly just look like they’ve pissed themselves, really.”

“Not much use to us either way, then,” Nathaniel sighed, turned back to the monsters in front of them.

Bethany had continued doing double duty, using her powerful force magic to attack the monster, and pulling deep from her reserves in order to protect her brother, Aveline, and the others. She fell to the ground, completely spent. Out of mana. Out of lyrium potions. Out of any energy left to fight. She felt suddenly more tired than she’d ever felt in her life. A voice was calling out to her. Orsino’s voice. No. No. It had been Orsino. But now it was her father’s voice. That beloved longed-for baritone rumble that soothed her through childhood bumps, and bruises, and nightmares of Templars, and panic when her magic leaked out of her in spite of her best efforts to keep it hidden. “Join me, my sweet little Bethany. It’s okay to give in now. Let your magic flow through you and consume you. You have fought so hard. Your mother and I are so proud. Find rest now, here with me...”

Carver watched in horror as his sister’s eyes began to go dull like the other mages, the sweet velvety brown fading to gold, then a sickening shade of yellow-green, like putrid flesh. “Bethany! Don’t you dare!” He rushed to her side, picking her up off the ground, shaking her in a desperate attempt to rouse her from the spell. But her body had become like a dead weight, and he could feel it being pulled toward the Harvester like a magnet, gradually increasing its power over her, its connection to her soul. “NO, LITTLE SISTER! YOU ARE _NOT_ AN ABOMINATION!” he screamed at her.

Aveline looked up from the fight when she heard Carver’s screams. _No no no no no!_ This couldn’t be happening. She’d already watched Hawke turn into a catatonic disaster tonight, though she hoped that was only temporary. She wasn’t about to watch Bethany become an actual undead horror.

She moved quickly over to them, taking another arm off of the monster as she passed. Her shield went up in front of Carver and Bethany just as the thing tried to grab them, probably intending to add them both to its collection of corpses.

“Now might be a good time for your secret weapon, Captain…” Ser Agatha said, with more than a hint of skepticism. She still had no idea what the book was, what it was supposed to do, and the scene in front of them was grim.

“Yeah, the fewer abominations we have to kill the _normal_ way, the better,” Samson agreed. Though he and Ser Agatha couldn’t have been anymore different, they certainly seemed to have a lot in common when it came to telling Cullen what to do.

Cullen stared at the book, opening the cover cautiously. Nothing happened. Not even a hint of any magical energy. No glow. No buzz or hum. He frantically flipped through a few of the pages, realizing he couldn’t even read the language it had been written in, and that he had no idea what he was meant to do with it.

“Ser Cullen?!”

“Ser Alistair?”

“Is that what I think it is…?” Alistair was staring at the book in Cullen’s hands.

“That depends on what you think it is.”

“The Litany of Adralla, I hope? We could sure use a bit of miraculous assistance before the rest of these mages turn on us, too.”

“Yeah. Do you, uhhh...know how it works?”

“I remember. I think. Brosca just sort of held it up and started reading.”

“Can you read Tevene?”

“No. But neither could she.”

“Ah well, here goes!”

“Maker guide your tongue...and your lips and teeth and vocal chords.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, just don’t fuck it up. No pressure.”

Agatha cleared her throat. Less patiently than she’d probably ever done before.

“Right.” Cullen took a deep breath, then held the book up in front of his face, aiming its binding at the flesh golem, and began reading, or at least, trying to. It felt awkward, trying to make sounds out of things he barely even recognized as letters. His eyes were somehow inexplicably drawn to a section in the middle of the page, like the book was growing impatient with him, too. The characters shifted somehow into something he could at least sound out, then shifted again, actual, recognizable words coming into focus now. Was the enchantment in his head? Or on his tongue? Or his eyes? For a brief moment, he hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of being ‘used’ by this object. But it was hard to say what was being manipulated or how, and he didn’t feel any ill will or dark magic coming from the book. And it wasn’t like they had any other choice.

As the words started to form somewhere between his eyes, his brain, and his mouth, a white glow began to radiate out from the book. All of the undead, the horrors and shades, the lesser demons, and the Abomination all turned toward Ser Cullen with unprecedented attention and focus.

But he did not seem to even notice. He continued to let the book speak through him, and the white glow coalesced into a sort of shimmering curtain. The monsters all shrieked in one horrifying, mind-splitting voice.

They rushed to attack the Knight-Captain, converging on him like a frenzied, boiling mess. And he was left defenseless, standing there, transfixed by a book he couldn't even read, completely unaware of the doom that was about to befall him.

Raleigh Samson didn’t know why he’d even followed these idealistic Templars into the prisons, especially the Knight-Captain, whose fragile ego combined with his naivete and childish faith would’ve been loathsome if they weren’t so heart-breaking. He’d found what he was after in the Knight-Commander’s office. He didn’t need to be a hero or a martyr for someone else’s cause like the Captain seemed determined to be. But here he was. About to be swarmed by blighted monsters in his shadow. He could still leave, he knew. He could turn and slink away from this, like he did most things that he didn’t see a point to. These abominations had no interest in him and none of the other Templars would miss him.

But there was Cullen. Stupidly murmuring something unintelligible, compelled by his stupid faith. Trying to save the half a dozen or so mages left who hadn’t yet fallen to the temptation of demons. And there was Samson’s blighted heart again, compelling him to help.

“Ah, bloody hell!” he yelled, as he threw his shield in front of the Knight-Captain and stabbed his sword at the first corpse that had shambled up to attack him. Arrows whizzed past him, landing in the face and neck of the next few corpses. Ser Agatha’s sword flashed through a few more. And a Warden’s armor appeared at his side, pushing back against the wave of skeletons and shades.

It was easier fighting like this, at least. Cullen was a focal point for everyone, friend and foe, to converge upon. The Guardsmen, the Wardens, the Templars and mages who’d come with them, all fighting to keep him safe as he completed the Litany. The shimmery curtain had become like a wall of light, and was pushing back against the monsters, too. For the first time in his life, Samson felt like even the Maker might be rooting for them to win instead of laughing at their losses.

Nah. That was just the adrenaline that came with fighting desperately for one’s life. Like the rush of lyrium. He dropped his sword for a moment, ducking down behind his shield in order to fumble in his belt for a vial of the stuff. He brought it to his lips with a victorious sigh. Who needed the Maker when there was lyrium? He felt invincible. He picked his sword back up and charged into the mass of horrors in front of them.

Cullen could not hear the chaos that had surrounded him. His consciousness was completely filled by the contents of the book he held, which spilled out of his lips, filling his mouth with the taste of warm...citrus? And honey. He didn’t dare to pull his eyes away from the page, afraid the book might not let go, pulling his eyeballs out of their sockets. It was a demanding thing. But he was grateful that it had taken control. He’d somehow managed to get through the entire thing to the very last page, though he didn’t remember actually flipping through any pages. Time had both stopped and rushed impossibly forward for him. Or maybe it had just ceased to exist. He felt his ears pop, his eyes and brain and tongue go numb, as he uttered the last word, if it could even have been called that. More of a thought, a wish...a prayer. And then everything went white.

…

When they talked about what had happened later, everyone remembered seeing something different in the blinding flash of light that had punctuated the end of the Litany, and the turning point in their fight against Orsino’s Abomination.

Bethany saw her apprentices, hands raised eagerly waving in the air, begging to be called upon to demonstrate a fireball. Carver swore he saw their sister, Marian, sticking her tongue out at him. Donnic saw Aveline, and Aveline saw a ship sailing across the Waking Sea. Ser Agatha saw a little girl, just starting to show her first signs of magic, waiting patiently for her mother to return home to her like she always promised she would. Alistair saw his beloved dwarf sitting grumpily across a campfire. Nathaniel Howe claimed he saw a ginger tabby cat while glaring knowingly at Stroud. And Stroud...well, he just grumbled that they all were being sentimental idiots.

Samson didn’t tell anyone, but he saw a bird folded from paper, caked in mud, but soaring through the air, all the same.

But when these visions had cleared from their minds, their eyes having recovered from the sudden flash of light, they _all_ saw the same thing, at least. That most of their enemies had been knocked back or destroyed, and the enthralled mages freed from their trances.

The Harvester, unfortunately, had survived, and was busy re-assembling its golem. But Carver jumped on top of the monstrosity and swung his maul at its head until it once again freed itself from the rest of its body and tried to make a run for it. He was ready this time. He jumped down off the pile of flesh and pounced on it, smashing it again with his maul before it could get away, and then stomping it violently over and over again until nothing but an indiscernible mass of grey slimy skin and teeth and gore remained.

“Well, then…” Alistair breathed out loudly, hoping they could all just relax for a couple minutes at least.

“Did it...did it work?” Cullen had just barely come to. Ser Agatha was at his side, helping him up. He’d passed out at the end of the Litany. He could still taste the words, feel the pull of his eyes and his mind to the book, even though he was no longer holding it. It laid open face-down on the ground.

Ser Agatha bent down to scoop it up. “Yes! Seems to have, anyway.” She offered it to him, but he shook his head, not sure he was ready to be overwhelmed by its power again anytime soon.

“Imagine us running into each other again like this! Mages, abominations, over-zealous Templars and broken Circles! It is really bringing me back to the good old days,” Alistair mused.

“I thought you all preferred to stay out of the ‘petty squabbles’ of religion and politics?” Cullen smirked. He didn't need to relive those dark memories while they were still in the midst of making more.

“Well, we felt your Chantry being blown to bits from the Deep Roads, and in our haste to avoid being trapped in the resulting cave-ins, we happened to run into a certain songbird just casually ‘appreciating the nugs’ on her way out of town, who told us you might need some help.”

But, although the Warden-Commander and Knight-Captain seemed enough at ease with one another, the tension between the newly-arrived Templars and the rest of them remained unresolved.

“Are you here to subdue us, Knight-Captain? As part of the Annulment?!” Bethany finally demanded. She was still recovering, but there was a fierceness in her eyes that actually made him take a step back.

“Err...no. We came to try and...save whomever we could.” He nodded back toward his men and toward the small group of mages they’d managed to gather from the dormitories. He realized this may not have been a very convincing display, but it was all he could do.

It was Carver’s turn to stare daggers at him. The Hawke family were all quite good at this. “And what does your _Commander_ think of that?”

Cullen’s back straightened. Carver’s glare was not nearly as devastating to him as his sister’s had been a moment before, even if he had Marian Hawke’s piercing blue eyes. “We have openly defied her orders, refusing to invoke the Right of Annulment, on the grounds that she does not have the blessing of the Divine, and therefore acts recklessly on her own illegitimate authority.”

Ser Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Illegitimate’ was certainly a start.

“Bold move, Captain!” Samson muttered into his ear, making him jump, and then glower at him. He might have proven himself useful today, but this was still too close for Cullen’s comfort.

“Does this mean you’ll be relieving her of her position?” Stroud asked.

Cullen nodded. “Probably not without a fight, I’m afraid. But we are ready now. Will you all join us?”

Alistair looked at Aveline. Aveline looked at her Guardsmen. Then at Bethany and Carver, the ferocious love in her heart for the two of them together almost too much for her to deal with. And finally, at Donnic, whose tiny nod gave her the last bit of confidence she needed to declare her allegiance aloud.

“You have the support of the City Guard, Knight-Captain.”

“And us, too, obviously,” Alistair added, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be in charge of this squad. “It’s not enough that we saved the world from a Blight, I suppose. Might as well add Abominations and deranged Knight-Commanders to our list of duties.”

“We appreciate it,” Cullen smiled. “We should go now. She waits outside with what is left of _her_ Templars.”

...

As they headed out of the Gallows to confront Meredith, Samson ducked back into the maze of offices and supply rooms that he and Cullen had stopped searching once they’d found Sandal and the Litany of Adralla. Cullen watched him go with a sigh. Probably looking for more loot, or to raid the lyrium supply. He half-hoped the man might run into a stray demon or undead horror lurking behind in order to teach him a lesson, but he couldn’t be bothered to go after him. They had a Knight-Commander to depose.

Samson passed right by the room full of cabinets of blue glowing vials. He completely ignored the treasury, and headed toward the armory instead. He took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door.

“Hello. How may I serve you?” A clear, monotone voice greeted him. It was strange, considering all the death and destruction he’d had to fight his way through and then back again to get here. Quiet. Orderly. Tranquil, even.

“Maddox…” he exhaled.

“Yes. And you are Ser Raleigh Samson. I had heard you had been allowed to return to the Order…but I assumed you would not be permitted to see me. Because of our history. Though I am no longer at risk of corrupting you.”

“You didn’t -- ah, shit!” He pushed his hands back through his perpetually-greasy hair, twining his fingers together behind his head and squeezing his arms together around his face, as he breathed in through his nose, trying not to scream. It was a habit. One of the many ways he’d learned to deal with the anguish of withdrawal, and regret. “I knew she’d had it done, but damn! This is harder than I thought.”

“The Knight-Commander only did what she thought best. Are you not satisfied with her decision?”

“She’s an evil cunt, and she’s about to get what’s comin’ to her. I know you can’t possibly understand that now...but before they did this to you, you would’ve probably agreed with me.”

“I cannot know, you are correct about that, but I will take your word for it.”

“I know. It’s fine. It’s…can I?” Samson pulled his hands away from his head and reached out to hug him, a bit awkwardly, as the man made no attempt to return or resist his affections.

“Yes. You may do as you wish. But I do not take comfort from such gestures. Just so you are aware.”

Samson had interacted with plenty of Tranquil before. He knew hugs and sympathy were pointless. But maybe this was more for him than for his friend. As he embraced him, he muttered into his shoulder, “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

“But I am perfectly satisfied here.”

“I know. That’s how it works, isn’t it?!”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to leave you here locked away to rot with that blank stare on your face and that wretched bloody sunburst carved into your forehead. You were brilliant before. A gifted artist and one helluva craftsman! You can still be. It’s still in you, I know it is! And people will pay you for it. None of this free mindless labor repairing Templar swords and armor. You’ll be free to live as much of a life as you can. And I’ll keep you safe this time.”

“I have been creating new things here. For the Knight-Commander. She has been satisfied with my work, she says.” There was absolutely no sense of pride or accomplishment in his voice or his face, and it filled Samson with so much anger again.

“Oh?” was all he could manage to say without screaming in outrage like he wanted to.

“Yes. She acquired some new materials for me to work with. She said not to tell anyone about it, though. Not until after she had revealed it.”

“Tranquil can keep secrets very well,” Samson sighed. The rage had passed, for now, replaced by curiosity. When he’d been searching the rosters in Meredith’s office for Maddox’s name, he’d seen other things that piqued his interest. Certain communications with the Carta dwarves about a particular substance they seemed far too excited about, everything coded, but mentions of ‘red.’ And the Feddic boy had mentioned something about it, too. What was Meredith up to?

“Yes. We do not get excited or anxious about them. And we cannot be compelled to share what we know by the usual means.”

“Hm,” Samson smiled, a sad fondness coming across his face. “Well, I guess you won’t be able to tell me about it, then.”

Maddox, when he was still Maddox, had been the worst at keeping secrets. Always full of gossip -- who was fucking who, which Templars were easiest to manipulate, which were the ones to avoid, which ones hated Meredith, which ones hated him (Cullen, obviously). They had built up their friendship and the trust that grew between them and ultimately got them in trouble by trading secrets, Maddox making Samson’s job easier, and Samson providing him with information from outside the Gallows. And passing his notes to his girl, of course. The irony of his punishment was not lost on Samson, even if Maddox could not appreciate it. This was just more of Meredith’s cruelty.

Something flickered in Maddox’s eyes, too. For a split second, his brow furrowed, then his expression went smooth and blank again. “I am feeling a bit strange.”

“The fact that you are _feeling_ anything at all is strange.”

“Hmm...yes. It is. I will have to let the Knight-Commander know.”

“May want to keep this a secret, too.”

“I will consider it.”

“Actually, I’m not sure there will be a Knight-Commander for very much longer, so don’t worry too much about it…”

“Oh.”

“Come with me?”

“I am supposed to stay here. Until my shift is done and Ser Ruvena comes to fetch me and take me to the dormitory.”

“Err...right, yeah! She asked me to fetch you instead. Change of plans. Meredith may be revealing your work soon outside the Gallows! We should go see, don’t you think?”

“Very well. If that is what the Knight-Commander has decided.”

“Yeah. Seems she has.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG CHAPTER! SORRY! I wish I could figure out how to edit this down, but...Samson just needed to be in this. So did Sandal, because obviously he did.


End file.
